The boat carrying Arthur's lifeless body floated softly towards the island of Avalon, and Merlin's chest was filled by an aching emptiness. His head pounded from crying and his mouth was dry. The Dragon's words, meant to comfort him, had cut him like a knife, filling him with regret and anguish. Arthur was gone. They'd never shared that longed for future where magic was once again free. Kilgharrah had said his destiny was fulfilled, and yet all Merlin felt was the bitter taste of failure.

Arthur was gone.

The rain pattered down softly, making the surface of the lake ripple in a million moving circles. Merlin lay on the shore on his knees, watching the mist envelop and conceal the boat that bore Arthur. Hot tears spilled on his cold cheeks mingling with the rain. He didn't feel the chill. Arthur was gone.

Darkness descended on the valley, and still Merlin watched. The rain continued through the night. Thoughts came to him, of the last two days spent with Arthur, the words he'd said to him, the truth finally out between them. How precious, how sweet Arthur's words had been. He bent down at the waist, weighed with regret and that great emptiness carved into his chest.

Arthur was gone.

Morning came and Merlin felt for the first time the chill that went down to the bone, and the ache in his body like needles. He was worn out and heart broken and he couldn't find the strength to move or to seek shelter.

Towards dusk he heard hoof beats approach. Familiar voices called out to him and he was surrounded, wrapped in blankets and brought up to his feet. He recognized Leon and Percival's faces close beside him. How did they find him, he wondered?

"Gaius sent us," Leon answered his unspoken question. "Where is Arthur?"

"Arthur is dead," Merlin told them, his voice dull.

The knights bowed their heads in grief.

"Gaius warned us," Leon said, "but I had held out hope. His body?"

Merlin glanced towards the lake and following his gaze, Leon understood. He stood with the others on the shore, giving their King one last salute.

"You are chilled to the bone. Let us go home, Merlin. To Camelot."

The words sliced into Merlin's heart. Camelot. Arthur's memory would be there in every corner, in every hallway, every step and every room. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, resisting the supporting arms that held him.

"No," he bit out, the word raw in his throat. "No." The knights paused, uncertain. "I cannot go back." When they resisted, he pushed harder. They stepped away from him looking weary and sad.

"Tell Gaius," Merlin said weakly. "Tell Gaius that I am sorry." His voice broke and he turned and walked away from Leon and Percival. He felt the warmth of the blanket leave him as it fell to the ground. He didn't stop to pick it up.

"Merlin!" Leon called out behind him, but he kept going, pushing his way through thicket and brambles, not knowing where he went and not caring. There was nowhere for him. He could not face Camelot. Arthur was gone.

...

Merlin came to in the silence of a low wooden hut. Streaks of sunlight spilled from cracks in the walls and in them danced small particles of dust made golden by the sun. Merlin stared at them, his mind a blissful numbness. His body ached in a million places, but his mind was quiet, at rest.

Ever so slowly, his memories of the previous days returned, and with them, in a flash, the agonizing emptiness in his chest at Arthur's loss.

The sound of shuffling feet broke through and Merlin startled when a wet, cool cloth touched his face. He put a hand out defensively, opened his eyes and came face to face with a woman, bowed over his bed, her face disfigured by a web of scars, some white and some angry red. She would have been frightening, except that her eyes were warm amber brown and kind. He let his hand drop away.

"I found you in the forest," the woman said, and her voice was raspy and harsh. "I thought you were dead." She brought a bowl of broth and took up a spoon to feed him but Merlin turned his face to the wall. After a while he heard her sigh.

"I don't know what your story is," she said, "but I fought for my life even when it was close to worthless. I must have been mistaken when I thought you were a fighter."

He turned to look at her feeling ashamed. Her eyes were hard, but not unkind. With great effort he raised himself up on his elbows and leaned back against the wall. He held out a shaky hand for the bowl, and she passed it to him with a nod.

...

Days passed and Merlin got stronger. During the day, his host left to forage and hunt, and in the evenings she worked in the hut, cooking food and drying herbs. Merlin watched her work. She reminded him of Gaius. It was hard to tell her age. The scars and the heavy, crooked way she moved, gave the impression of age and infirmity, but the parts of her face and hands that were not covered in scars held no signs of old age, no wrinkles or spots.

"What happened to you?" he asked her one evening. His voice sounded foreign to himself, raw and harsh in the quiet of the hut.

She turned to him, and her mouth drew tight.

"Some magic and some old fashioned torture," she answered grimly. She looked away. "Some people need to overpower others in order to feel that they are not so small."

She hobbled to the kettle above the fire and stirred in some herbs.

"You have magic?" he asked her.

"I wish that I had. I might have been able to defend myself."

"But you know herb lore," Merlin said, pointing to her work table and the little neatly labeled bottles that lay there.

"My mother taught me, while she lived," she said with a smile, and Merlin thought he saw a glimpse of what she must have looked like before. "She hid her skill from people. It was too easy to be accused of witchcraft if you knew herb lore, even if you had no magic at all."

"What is your name?" he asked, feeling odd for not asking her sooner.

"They used to call me Bri," she answered quietly resuming her work.

"And yours?"

"Merlin."

"What is your story, Merlin?"

"I had a friend and now he's dead," Merlin whispered.

Slowly, the whole story spilled out of him like poison from a wound.

"I know that the dragon said I had fulfilled my destiny, but it all feels wrong. It was too soon. Albion and all its promise of freedom and equality have not been accomplished yet." He looked down at his hands as he clasped them in his lap. "The world that Arthur's reign promised hasn't come to pass. And I had so little time with him."

"You built your whole life around him," she said quietly and Merlin knew that whether he had been wise or not, she spoke the truth. He had held on to Arthur so tight.

"Your magic must be great indeed."

"What use is it to me now?" he asked bitterly.

"When I was a child, my mother told me of a place, a lost place in the Grey Mountains. A crater where there rains grew a lake and no man had set foot on its steep shore. It was a place where dragons went to drink and gain the sight of the ages past and ages to come. It was a place where the hinges of time were loose, and the story goes that if a man could make his way there, he could slip into time where the lake waters took him. If he held power, he could decide his own road."

She paused to look at Merlin. "Perhaps you hold that power."

"A time portal," he whispered entranced. For the first time in the last weeks since the battle of Camlann, Merlin felt a shiver of hope rush down his back.

"It's likely only a bedtime story," she replied cautiously.

"But you don't think so."

"Many things my mother told me of that I thought were fairy tales turned out to be as real as you or I. Why not this?"

"I will find it," Merlin said and suddenly knew it to be true.

"I will help you," she said, her face brightening. Under the scars and burns, Merlin thought he could see again a glimpse of her true face. "And perhaps if you succeed, you will also help me."

AN: And off we go!